


An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding and Other Affairs

by LettersfromLaika



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Shakespeare Quotations, Summer, The stunning landscape of PEI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersfromLaika/pseuds/LettersfromLaika
Summary: Snippets of Anne and Gilbert realizing things like maybe they might like each other a little (or a lot).Summertime at Green Gables. Post Season 2.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! It's been a while, and I have never written for Anne with an E. But I am a huge fan of the show, and the book. Here is my humble offering of a little two part (maybe more) drabble about Anne and Gilbert.

The still air of the schoolroom was stifling. Heat pressed in on all sides even after Ms. Stacy had thrown open the windows to welcome the summertime breeze. 

School would let out in a few short weeks and everyone, even Anne, was restless and inattentive to their studies. Moody was napping on his bundle of chalk, behind her Ruby and Josie were giggling and passing notes, and Diana was folding and unfolding a spare ribbon she had found in her pinafore. Gilbert, usually so eager, had raised his gaze from his slate and was staring rather dreamily out the west facing window. 

“Hmm,” said Ms. Stacy, looking up from her desk, clearly picking up on her student’s preoccupation. 

She looked over her students appraisingly, Anne looked back with anticipation. Ms. Stacy seemed to purse her lips in thought. 

“Alright class,” She clapped her hands loudly, and Moody jerked awake, “To your feet! We are going to play a game”

Anne was the first to her feet. The rest of the class of course straggled behind her. 

“Today we are going to play a game called Literary Passages, you all remember your readings from last week’s presentations?” 

Anne nodded excitedly, beside her Diana groaned quietly. Last week Ms. Stacy had assigned them each an important writer, they were to read about them in their books and then present a speech about them dressed as a character from their novel. Anne had the honor of presenting as her beloved Jane Eyre. Diana had received Edgar Allan Poe, and had in uncharacteristically bad spirits recited The Raven draped in a black tablecloth. 

“I thought you were brilliant,” whispered Anne encouragingly as Diana returned to her seat.  
“I hate recitations,” muttered Diana, “And Poe is so dreadfully morbid.” 

But then it had been Billy’s turn and they were quickly lost in their glee at his uncomfortable attempts to play Jo from Little Women. 

Gilbert, of course, got Charles Dickens and presented as Pip, eyes flashing up from the folded bit of paper in his hand – “ –on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, – “ And behind her Anne heard Ruby begin to hyperventilate slightly. 

“Well,” continued Ms. Stacy, “Today we are going to be adopting the persona, not of characters from different authors, but from one. I trust you all have completed your assigned homework?” 

There were some grumbles, but mostly nodding.

“And what was the reading?” Ms. Stacy scanned the room, “Ms. Gillis, why don’t you tell us?” 

Ruby blushed but stammered out, “The Twelfth Night, Ms. Stacy.” 

“Quite so,” Ms. Stacy beamed encouragingly and she dug from her pocket an orange and a small leather ball. “The prize for the winner shall be the orange, I got it from Charlottetown just this Saturday, and the merchant assured me it is perfectly ripe. The ball is for the game. We will stand in a circle. Each student will take their turn reading lines from the play, with each line they shall pass the ball to another student in the circle. If they drop it they must leave the circle, the one who recites the most lines wins. But –“ Ms. Stacy raised a hand to quiet Billy who had always been more athletically inclined and snorted derisively. “The catch is, that the students must use their opposite hand.”

The class broke out into excited giggles and murmurs, Billy suddenly looked a lot less confident.  
“Come along, everyone up here,” Ms. Stacy gestured to the front of the room, “Josie, why don’t you begin, page 56, books in one hand, everyone gather around!” 

“But if she cannot love you, sir?” began Josie as Viola, a little flatly, but giggling as she tossed the ball to Prissy who struggled to catch the little leather ball in her left hand. 

“I cannot be so answer’d” Prissy replied smugly, using the edge of her dress to get a better hold on the ball before tossing it to Diana. And so it went, the class eagerly cheering each student on. Charlie and Billy put on a great show, and Diana managed a handy 4 lines before fumbling the ball on “No motion of the liver, but the palate.” 

Slowly the circle began to shrink, the eliminated students leaning over shoulders to cheer on the remainder.

Now Anne had a secret, one that had been terribly un-advantageous most of her life but now might indeed be her salvation. As if being red-haired and orphaned wasn’t bad enough, Anne had been born wrong handed. It had of course been beaten out her, but to this day she was still dextrous enough with both hands. Enough to win this game and win the unending approval of Ms. Stacy. 

And the orange. That too.

“But mine is all as hungry as the sea,” She began triumphantly catching Moody’s haphazard toss, not even looking at the play in her right hand. The Twelfth Night was not her favourite, but she hardly needed the book for this passage. 

Ruby scrabbled to catch her return pass, but didn’t manage it. Gilbert took her place. Anne squared her shoulders. 

“What dost thou know?” Asked Gilbert. He, Anne noticed, did not read from the book either. His pass to Moody was even and steady. Moody fumbled the catch, stifled a swear and left the circle.  
Anne realized with some surprise that it was just down to her and Gilbert.

“Too well what love women to men may owe:” 

Gilbert caught the ball with an effortless flick of his wrist, Anne had to fight back her temper. His eyes met hers, and the corner of his mouth quirked. 

“In faith, they are as true of heart as we.” 

“As it might be, perhaps, were I a women,” Several of the boys in the class snickered at that, Anne merely raised her chin and returned the ball to Gilbert. He still hadn’t broken his gaze. 

“I should your lordship.” Gilbert made a small bow before passing the ball and there were more titters. 

“And what’s her history?” Anne threw the ball harder hoping to make him miss. 

“A blank, my lord. She never told her love, -” 

Gilbert’s eyes flicked up and then down, Anne suddenly felt paranoid, what was he looking at? Did she have something on her dress? 

“- But let her concealment, like a worm in the bud,” 

The room felt boiling. Anne used her unoccupied hand to push some escaped hair behind her ears, and she could have sworn Gilbert’s eyes followed the movement. 

“Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought,- ” 

Anne imagined he was just surprised he hadn’t beat her yet. 

“- And with a green and yellow melancholy –“ 

He still hadn’t looked down, she nearly dropped the next pass and was instantly furious at her lapse. The class was now applauding each successful catch. 

“- She sat like patience on a monument –“ 

He had taken off his vest in the heat of the classroom at lunch, and his shirt was sticking a little to his shoulders, pulling the collar haphazardly. Anne could feel heat running up and down her back, driving up her discomfort.

“- Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?” 

Gilbert, oddly seemed little unsteady as well, but he still hadn’t looked away. 

“We men may say more, swear more: but indeed, -“ 

Anne barely dared to blink. 

“- Our shows are more than will; for still we prove – “ 

The leather ball felt slippery in her hands

“Much in our vows, but little in our love.” 

Sweat dripped down her spine. It must be the heat of the room that was making her dizzy.  
It was for this reason - the overall heat of the room, and that alone, - that for some reason on the next pass her hand did not respond as it should have. 

With an awful thud the ball hit the ground at her feet. 

Silence.

Diana gasped. 

The boys cheered, and rushed up to congratulate Gilbert, who for a moment seemed bizarrely distracted, before a wide grin crossed his face. 

“Good one,” he told Anne with a crinkly eyed smile. But Anne, who felt as if she had somehow been hoodwinked merely gave him a curt nod and returned to her seat. 

“Excellent!” Miss Stacy called, “And now, Gilbert since you won are you able to tell us what that passage was about?” 

Anne repressed a sigh. Gilbert for his part hid a smile.

*** *** *** 

“That was incredible,” whispered an awestruck Diana, as they packed up their books, but Anne merely continued to frown.

“Diana, do I have anything on my face? Other than the usual calamity of freckles? Dirt or something of that nature?” 

Her friend’s brow creased in confusion, “No? I don’t think so? Why?”

But Anne couldn’t think of how to describe the uncomfortable intensity she was certain Gilbert had orchestrated to without sounding insane and hastily changed the subject.

Diana raised an eyebrow but didn’t press Anne as the class was making it’s eager way out of the schoolroom. Anne lingered behind to set things to order for Ms. Stacy, accidentally catching Gilbert’s eye as she did so. 

“Seriously,” he said, wandering over to where she was wiping down the blackboard, “That was really impressive earlier, not many people can say they have memorized The Twelfth Night.” 

“You can,” replied Anne before she could stop herself. 

“I used to read it to my father,” Gilbert picked up a set of brushes and began knocking them together. Chalk floated in a white mist out the window and into the sunlit yard. “He liked the comedies most towards the end, didn’t much have the stomach for the tragedies anymore he would tell me.” 

Anne didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she let the silence grow until she couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“It’s very hot in here,” she managed finally, feeling rather wrong footed, although she still couldn’t explain why. 

“So it is,” Gilbert had finished with the brushes, and was fetching his and Anne’s hats from the cloakroom. “Shall I walk you home?” 

“Oh, you really don’t have to, - ” began Anne hastily. 

“It’s no problem at all,” Gilbert smiled, “We are neighbors.” 

“Right.” Anne smiled rather lamely and jammed her hat unto her head. “Very well then.” 

*** *** ***  
As soon as they left the schoolhouse Gilbert lifted his nose to the air sniffing contentedly like a dog. Anne thought she understood why, but still a little peeved over the Shakespeare game she cast him a judgmental look. 

“What are you doing?” 

Gilbert merely smiled, “I love days like this, you can smell the clover fields in bloom. Sometimes I will just take the long way home just to walk past them.”

Anne, who was secretly guilty of the same thing, said nothing. The hazy summer heat receded somewhat as they made their way into the woods and her and Gilbert’s pace slowed to an amble. 

“I came across the strangest thing near here the other day,” Gilbert began conversationally, “A sort of dwelling in the woods, or what used to be, it was surrounded by statues.” 

Anne couldn’t hide her slightly in-drawn breath. A dead giveaway.

“It was yours then,” Gilbert scrutinized her, but Anne just looked at her feet. “I thought it might be.” 

“Why?” Asked Anne despite herself. 

“Because it was beautiful,” he replied simply, “And you create beautiful things.” 

Anne shifted uncomfortably, “Cole made the statues.”

“How is he liking Charlottetown?” 

“Much better,” Anne allowed herself a small smile remembering Cole’s latest letter to her, “Diana’s Aunt Josephine dotes on him so, and he has apprenticed with a famous sculptor friend of hers.” 

Gilbert nodded. “If you ever want to visit him I can escort you, I go to Charlottetown once a week to follow a doctor there. Diana is welcome too of course.” 

“Thank you.” Anne scuffed her shoe slightly over a few roots sticking out on the path. Then her curiosity got the best of her. “What is it like? Following the doctor I mean?” 

“Terribly interesting,” Gilbert smiled at her, “And sometimes just terrible. I fainted you know, the first time I saw a needle.” 

“Oh dear.” But Anne couldn’t help smiling back a little. 

“I like delivering babies most of all,” Gilbert continued, plucking a blade of grass and placing it between his teeth as they continued down the path, “They come out so bright and new, nothing to tell them how to be or what to think.” 

Anne thought back to the babies she had seen delivered at the orphanage, “Isn’t it a bit messy though? And scary with all the screaming?” 

Gilbert seemed to think on that, “I guess, but I am there to make it less scary so…” He shrugged, “And I am used to cleaning up messes, when my father was sick.” 

Anne was once again at a loss of what to say, but something made her blurt out, “I guess I am too, one of my other –“ she hesitated over the word family, because now she knew they were nothing like a family, “ – one of the households I lived in, I had to always look after the babies and even the husband sometimes when he was ill.” 

Gilbert chewed on the blade of grass and cast her a sideways look, “It’s not an easy thing.” 

“No.” 

They walked on in silence for a bit longer still, the turn off to Green Gables was rapidly approaching. Anne regarded it with a mixture of relief and disappointment. 

Wait. 

Disappointment? 

To her humiliation her feet chose that minute to betray her and she stumbled over a root.  
Gilbert’s hands, larger than she expected, wrapped gently around her upper arm before she could fall. 

“Careful!” 

Anne flushed stupidly, knees wobbling. 

Their eyes accidentally met. Gilbert still had his hand around her arm. They were quite close, shoes touching, faces only inches apart. She could count the long eyelashes that curled slightly upwards framing dark eyes. 

Then as if the situation wasn’t bad enough her traitorous mouth decided to part. As if in expectation. Expectation of what? 

The distance between them seemed to shrink. Who was leaning in? It wasn’t her was it?

Sense, as it always, came slightly too late. 

Just as Gilbert’s mouth, inconceivably, horrifically, softly, brushed hers. Anne wrenched away. 

“G-good evening, Gilbert.” She stuttered rapidly backpedalling, even though it was barely late afternoon. 

She caught one last glimpse of him, looking rather as if he had just been hit over the head before she turned tail and fled. 

*** *** ***  
Clearly, she could not be trusted around Gilbert. 

This was the conclusion that Anne came to some hours later, tucked firmly into her bed at Green Gables. For whatever reason, she was prone to making a fool of herself in his proximity. 

She was certain that the fault, whatever it was, laid with him. She was not, she tried to remind herself a Gilbert Blythe fan. Had she been initially pleased and excited to see him, upon his return from abroad? Yes, but that was for purely academic reasons. Now, now that school was coming to an end there was no further need for interaction. 

A ball of guilt, like worsted wool twisted at the thought of Ruby. What would she have thought if she had witnessed that fiasco in the woods? 

No. Anne wasn’t quite sure what had happened earlier, but it was clear that Gilbert bad news. 

Why he had nearly stolen her first proper kiss! 

No. She would just have to be better at keeping her distance. 

Anne avoided Gilbert with considerable success in the following week, although at heavy cost to her attempts to woo Ms. Stacy. Each lunch break she stuck to Diana like a barnacle, who did not understand Anne’s sudden lack of interest in going outside with the boys but accepted it with her usual grace. And as soon as school let out she was out the door, nearly at a sprint. 

If Gilbert was upset by this sudden change in behavior he didn’t seem it. After she had all but hidden under a desk on the first day back after the … incident… Gilbert had made no attempts to approach her. He merely continued to run around outside with the boys at lunch and wish her and Diana a good afternoon on their way out of the door. Anne sometimes felt his eyes on her in the class, especially during recitations, but if she ever deigned to turn her head he would always be bent over his slate, filling it with line after line of neat writing. 

Finally, one fine Friday, she stepped out of the schoolhouse door brimming with the realization that she had completed the last day of school. She allowed herself to slow to a stroll breathing in the fragrant air once well off on her way to Green Gables. The possibilities of the summer stretched before her golden and glorious. Diana would be able to visit when they were in town, and they already had plans to rebuild the story house. Marilla would let her spend all day out in the forest. And best of all Gilbert and the idiocy he seemed to illicit in her would be a healthy distance away. 

Satisfied, Anne allowed a little skip to enter her step and allowed it to carry her the rest of the day.


	2. Beach Day

It was the most beautiful of mornings, and nothing could tarnish it. 

Anne had woken early on the first day of her summer holidays, even before Marilla to the sweet singing of the larks and sparrows and the sun on her pillowcase. Glorious pale blue skies dotted with sliver clouds hung overhead. 

She had thought of at least five words to describe that summertime light before even coming down for breakfast, then five more as she ate her warmed bread and oats. She was only roused from her musings on her way out the pantry by a small commotion at the front door. Marilla opened it to reveal Bash in a fetching red checkered shirt. He was with Mary, both of them grinning in the morning sun. 

Anne didn’t get to hear what they were talking about because she had to get the eggs.   
Because Jerry forgot. But even Jerry couldn’t irritate her on this most lovely of days, and when she returned she was rewarded for her restraint. Hovering quietly by the door, as Bash and Mary waved aside Marilla’s offer of tea, Anne caught the most enticing of all words. 

Picnic. 

A picnic! Bash had invited them for a picnic on the beach. And even better, although quite out of character, Marilla had agreed. 

Anne could barely stop herself from skipping as she put on her shoes and hat and followed Marilla out the door, humming to herself. Marilla had packed a fine spread of preserves and oatcakes to accompany the offerings from the Lacroix’s and tucked the whole affair under a faded old blue blanket. Anne watched it swing from Mathew’s arm as he helped her up into the wagon.   
However, as Anne approached the wagon, waiting her turn for Matthew to help she came to a dead halt.

Gilbert was there, a second basket on his lap, helping Mary into the seat across from him.  
Anne had, of course, in her excitement entirely forgotten that Gilbert and the Lacroix’s were a package deal.

For a moment she considered turning back. But then Matthew half-smiled down at her, “Come along Anne.” And she was ushered into the back of the wagon.

On the bumpy road down to the beach she kept her eyes on the blue sky overhead. This was of course to discourage conversation. But after Gilbert did not attempt to engage her Anne couldn’t help but relax slightly. It would be a crime to leave such a beautiful sky unadmired. 

“You are quiet,” commented Marilla, who was sitting next Mary, and holding the brim of her sunhat firmly down against the wind. 

“It is the sky,” sighed Anne at last, unable to hold it in any longer, “It is so very fine-looking, with all those little clouds, they are like dandelion puffs scattered across the most bluest of satin.” 

Matthew chuckled quietly from the front of the wagon, but Bash grinned, “It is a good omen at sea,” he replied, turning his face to the sky as well, “Following winds and smooth seas.” 

“Was it terribly romantic at sea, Bash?” Anne turned eagerly upon him. She had forgotten in her preoccupation with avoiding Gilbert that Bash was so worldly! 

“Well, no, not so much, not where I was shoveling coal in the belly of the ship –“ began Bash, but catching Mary’s amused eye and Anne’s disappointed expression he changed tack, “But at night you could see all the stars, like a million little lights up there.” 

“Oh, the stars!” Anne could just imagine them, the whole cosmos alight. “Do go on.” 

“Well, uh, there were lots of birds, and, uh…” Bash seemed to struggle. 

“The horizon,” Gilbert spoke softly from beside Bash, where he had been sitting quite soberly. Anne jumped. She had almost successfully pretended he wasn’t there. “Just after the sun sets, it is all blue, every possible shade between where the sea and sky meet, like one infinity touching another.” 

Marilla smiled fondly at Gilbert. “That is a very fine image you paint, Gilbert, I know your father spoke fondly of the sea.” 

“He did,” Gilbert leaned forward eagerly, and Anne was interested despite herself. “He often said it could make anyone fall in love. He said that is why he spent so much time abroad in his youth, sailing he said would make a romantic even of the most determined cynic.” 

A peculiar expression crossed Marilla’s face and then was gone. All she said was: “That is very fine indeed.” Her gaze shifting from Gilbert swiftly, “And how goes the farm Bash?” 

And then they were there, in view of the sea, and Anne couldn’t help but excitedly jump out of the wagon and across the red sand to touch the sparkling water, giddy with joy. 

“No swimming,” shouted Marilla after her, even as the wind carried her voice away, and Anne kicked off her shoes and stockings hardly breaking her stride. 

A shout behind her drew her attention and she turned to see Sebastian chasing Gilbert down to the sea, both of them laughing. Bash was already down to his shirt sleeves. Forgetting it seemed in his excitement the chill lingering even in the summer air. 

The force of the icy cold sea water on her toes took her breath away, welling up over her toes to her shins. For a moment Anne, breathless, closed her eyes and merely listened, relishing the hiss of the water against sand, and the crashing of the sea against the rocks. Like a powerful heartbeat, belonging to some peaceful, but fearsome beast - 

“C’mon Bash!” hollered Gilbert, he seeming to be gesturing to a rocky spit a short distance down the beach, “Come look at the tide pools.” 

“No way, man.” Bash was already bundling back up into his sweater having done a rapid about face after barely dipping a toe in the water, “Your sea is too cold for me.” 

Gilbert seemed to sigh in exasperation, rolling up his trousers and unbuttoning his shirt as if in protest. His expression was nothing but pleasant as he turned to Anne. As if that bizarre walk home and the week afterward had never happened. “Coming, Anne?” 

“No thank you,” said Anne who very badly wanted to see the tide pools but was quite unwilling to risk any kind of proximity. Gilbert merely shrugged and took off down the beach at top speed, shirttails flapping wildly behind him. 

Anne wandered in his wake in a manner she hoped was dignified and stately. Along her way she came across a large shell, half buried in the sand, but whole and nearly perfect except for a few chips at the top. Carefully she tucked it into the pocket of her pinafore. 

The reeds sang to her, and along the way, pecking at little clumps of seaweed and other detritus were little sandpipers skittering about. 

If she ended up following Gilbert to his rocky spit it was only because it was a rather small beach and all the best shells had washed up on his end anyways. The tidepools glimmered in the sun, mysterious and inviting. 

“Come look!” he called when she was within earshot. Anne put on an air of supreme disinterest, all the better to discourage further interaction but hiked up her skirts so she could wade up to the smooth stones that Gilbert had used to clamber around the tidepools. 

His trousers were rolled up past his knees and not for the first time Anne wished she could do the same. 

“Look,” he pointed once she had joined him crouched over the nearest pool a careful distance away, “Sea anemones, look, you can do this,” he poked a finger into the pool, and to the center of one of the odd looking tentacled plant things within. Instantly it shut around it. 

Anne was captivated despite herself. “These ones are harmless,” explained Gilbert wiggling his finger free. “The ones I saw while travelling weren’t though. Here, just like this –,” he gently redirected Anne’s tentative finger. “Sorry,” he added hastily withdrawing, when he caught her gaze on his hand, holding hers. 

Anne ignored the strange prickling warmth left over from his touch and plunged her hand into the pool, watching in fascination as the anemone closed about her finger. The pool was like a miniature world in of itself, Anne could imagine the minute dramas of shrimps and seahorses unfolding, even as she spotted tiny crabs crawling amid the anemones. 

Sensing her absorption, Gilbert thankfully retreated, and Anne found a smooth driftwood log that had washed up onto the rocky prominence within view of a small pool. As she watched she drew out her shell, letting her fingers learn the shape of it. 

The heartbeat of the ocean was not even, an occasionally it would send up great waves against the rocks, impacting with a mighty crash. On such occasions the tidepools would ripple and fresh seawater would trickle in. 

On one such crash, she heard Gilbert let out a yelp, and she roused from her examination of the tide pool to see him laughing softly to himself, half soaked from a particularly antagonistic wave.   
Temporarily freed from its patchy veil, and as if on cue, the sun shone down on the both of them.

Gilbert red-cheeked, tousled and breathless spread his arms as if to embrace it. 

Through the translucent outline of his shirt she could see his silhouette, rake-thin like hers but with the promise of becoming hale and hearty, caught between a boy and a man. Never still, always rising and falling as irregularly as the sea.

I hope you will always be this way. 

The thought came suddenly and unbidden. Anne immediately felt silly for doing thinking so.  
First of all, and most importantly of all, because she was decidedly not the kind of girl that got all whimsical over Gilbert Blythe. 

Unlike a certain Ruby, she was a person of taste. Certainly, she would never imagine wasting poetry on the likes of him. He couldn’t even spell indefinitely. It was a disgrace. Clearly the bout of insanity that had afflicted her in the woods had returned. 

Anne checked to make sure her feet were both firmly planted on the ground and she was securely sitting on her log. Gilbert was still some distance away. The sunlight persisted, dramatic as the paintings she had once seen on Aunt Josephine’s parlour walls.

For one brief moment she allowed herself continue down the path that first thought had taken her on. 

They were growing up. Gilbert especially. It was foolish to think that he should stay the same, he was already saddled with the responsibility of an adult. He should look the part.

Soon the last of that baby roundness to his face would go, and he would fill out, grow broad about the chest, with rough cheeks and strong shoulders. Shoulders like Bash or even Matthew, ones that could carry saddles and yokes to balance buckets of grain. Shoulders that sloped with tiredness at the days end. Shoulders that someone’s gentle hands would smooth over by firelight, until they were soft enough to endure the next day’s abuses. The dark curls would fade too, become brittle and grey and doubtless thin and recede. 

Eventually, there would be nothing to sigh over at all about Gilbert Blythe. 

Nothing at all. But still. 

Anne feared that she would never be able to erase this golden memory, the image of sunlight tangling in his hair, hair tangling in the collar of his shirt and shirt tangling on itself, open to the wind. 

It was nothing to do with Gilbert, she told herself. It was just that he cut a very romantic figure. Ribs like an open cage door, and collarbones like the bows of a willow sapling. Smile like a golden coin on an inauspicious dell. New like the first scent of spring. The very sand holding the memory of his feet, long after the footprints had been washed way. The reeds singing stories in the noontime blow, and the gulls overhead passing on legends to their downy, grey coated offspring - 

Still laughing, Gilbert turned back from the salt spray on the rocks to catch her eye. Like a fox trap slamming shut Anne ended that train of thought. 

“What’s that you got there?” Gilbert had made his way back from the rapidly filling tide pool he had been examining and gestured at the shell she had forgotten she was clutching. 

“A conch, I think.” Anne wished very much to appear educated on the subject, “I read about them in Miss Stacy’s book about Oceanographic Natural History, it belonged to a mollusc.” 

“Hmm.” 

Gilbert leaned into examine it, and Anne wished he would button up his shirt again. The skin that dipped in just before his collarbones looked smooth as Marilla’s finest china. Anne remembered scarcely daring to touch the flower patterned teacups when she first saw them on Christmas day, and marvelling at their craftmanship and fragility once she did. 

“I saw ones like this in Trinidad only with big ruffles, and more pink,” His nose scrunched suddenly, “Like one of Ruby’s dresses.” 

“Ruby does have the most loveliest of dresses,” sighed Anne, suddenly distracted. 

Dear, timid, Ruby. Anne, felt another upwelling of guilt at the thought of her friend’s infatuation. Doubtless, if it were Ruby in her place copious swooning would have already occurred. 

Gilbert settled, unasked she might add, next to her on the driftwood, and gestured for the shell, Anne scooted away from him then passed it over reluctantly. 

“I like this one better,” he said, after a careful examination, thoughtfully he ran his thumb along the dull, brown speckled outside before reaching the milky pale part in the middle. 

“That is silly,” replied Anne, oddly affronted even though she had rather liked the shell herself only a moment ago. “This one is so plain, and… and… splotchy.” 

If Gilbert noticed her abrupt change in mood he didn’t comment, merely passing her back the shell and rising to his feet. His expression was still as casual as could be, and maybe Anne hoped beyond hope he had forgotten the episode in the woods. Gilbert shrugged, “All the same, I like it better.” 

Anne clamped her mouth shut and scooted over even further from him.

In the resulting silence Gilbert brushed some sand off his knee. Were these silences always so charged? 

“Shall we?” Gilbert seemed to have removed the sand on his knee to his satisfaction and gestured back down the beach where Marilla and Mary were setting out lunch, Bash eagerly looking on and Matthew at a cautious distance. 

Even more bizarrely still he offered his arm to her as they made their way across the lapping water and blustery dunes. It was only due to said inclement winds, and the uncertain footing of course, the last thing she wanted was a repeat of the woods, that Anne accepted keeping the most distance between them as she could. 

As she did, the sun decided to make it’s appearance from behind another cotton puff cloud, blazing and splendid, and Gilbert, on her westerly side was glided once more.


End file.
